Puff Peace

by Benjamin Svetkey and Lori L. Tharps

In early December 1999, Sean ''Puffy'' Combs attended the Metropolitan Museum of Art's Costume Institute gala, where he met, of all people, former secretary of state Henry Kissinger. After their brief, historic encounter, a confused Kissinger reportedly turned to his socialite friend Pat Buckley. ''Why,'' he asked in his famous German croak, ''does he call himself Fluffy?''

Today, even Kissinger would probably get the name right. Since Combs' arrest later that same month -- Dec. 27, after fleeing with his movie star girlfriend, Jennifer Lopez, from an early morning gun battle in a midtown Manhattan club that wounded three people -- the flamboyant 31 year old rap entrepreneur has been front page news in papers across the country. And while his recent trial for illegal gun possession and bribery wasn't televised, it nevertheless became the year's first media pile on, the most feverishly covered legal case since Bill Clinton's impeachment hearings (or at least since the press frenzy over those Girl Scouts busted for allegedly illegal cookie sales in Georgia).

Combs, of course, has survived the ordeal unscathed; on March 16, he was acquitted of all charges. In fact, what could have easily ended in a 15 year jail term may turn out to be a boon for Combs and his Bad Boy Entertainment empire, already a $300 million a year enterprise. Certainly, curiosity has been piqued about Bad Boy artist Jamal ''Shyne'' Barrow, whose self titled debut has climbed back up the charts since the trial's start and who now faces up to 25 years in prison for his part in the shooting. (While Combs and bodyguard Anthony ''Wolf'' Jones, 34, were both acquitted of all charges, the 21 year old Puff protégé was convicted of five more serious charges, including first degree assault and reckless endangerment, and is now detained at Rikers Island, pending his April 16 sentencing.) Combs will be back in the spotlight this summer with Jon Favreau's film ''Made,'' in which he makes his acting bow as a crime boss. And then there's Bad Boy's textile division: Combs' six week trial was a superb setting for a Sean John fashion show, with supporters, bodyguards, and even lawyers sporting Daddy duds.

''He's such a celebrity,'' gushes one exec from a rival hip hop label. ''People can always come back, especially in entertainment.'' Johnnie Cochran, one of Combs' attorneys, notes a change in his client: ''Before, he had the image of this bad boy. When you're young, that's kind of cute. But now he's a man.'' Adds another music executive, ''If anything, there's even more glow on him.'' In other words, pop open another bottle of Cristal, Fluffy.

Frankly, the verdict couldn't have been less surprising. Throughout his meteoric rise, Combs has often skidded into violence only to bounce off without a scratch. There was, for instance, that 1991 charity basketball game he promoted in Harlem. (Nine people were crushed to death in a stampede; while escaping criminal charges, Combs and others made financial settlements with victims' families.) There was his rumored mid '90s feud with rival L.A. based label Death Row -- which some believe led to the murders of Death Row star Tupac Shakur and Bad Boy's Notorious B.I.G. And in 1999, there were assault charges for the beating of Interscope executive Steve Stoute, for which Combs was sentenced to a one day anger management class -- in addition to reaching a monetary settlement with Stoute.

But Combs' latest escape was by far his narrowest. Four people testified to seeing him with a gun inside Club New York on that dangerous December night. (The gunfire broke out after the Harlem born impresario allegedly traded taunts with shady ex con Matthew ''Scar'' Allen.) One witness, escort service limo driver George Pappas, 35, claimed he saw a gun fly from the window of Combs' Lincoln Navigator as it ran red lights up Eighth Avenue after the shoot out. Combs' own driver Wardell Fenderson, 42, declared under oath that Combs had offered him a $50,000 bribe -- presenting a $40,000 pinkie ring as collateral -- to tell police the gun was Fenderson's.

There were also phone records showing that Combs had attempted to contact several witnesses in the days after the incident, police accounts of comments made at the scene of the arrest (one cop testified that Lopez blurted to officers ''It's not my gun'' before they learned there was a gun), and testimony from an emergency room doctor that one of the victims told him that night, ''Puffy shot me.'' No wonder Assistant District Attorney Matthew Bogdanos looked so confident sitting alone at the prosecution table with his neatly arranged folders of evidence.

But the jury didn't buy it, possibly because the most potentially damning evidence -- bullet fragments in two of the people wounded during the spray of gunfire -- was still lodged in the victims' bodies and couldn't be safely removed for ballistics tests. The fact that the key prosecution witnesses happen to be suing Combs (like Fenderson, who wants $3 million for his troubles) also undermined Bogdanos' case.

Still, it was the sheer showmanship of Combs' defense that most impressed those watching from the wings. If there's one thing Combs knows how to do, it's put on a show -- and he touted his innocence with all the theatrical savvy he displayed at one of his Hamptons parties that drew the likes of Martha Stewart and Donald Trump. He hired America's most famous defense attorney (Cochran), along with veteran New York lawyer Benjamin Brafman. He traded crowd pleasing witticisms with the prosecutor. (''Do you need a minute?'' Bogdanos asked him on the stand. ''No, do you?'' Combs shot back.) He packed the courtroom with celebrity visitors like Russell Simmons, Faith Evans, and Heavy D; not to mention his mother, Janice, whose presence -- and platinum tresses -- was impossible to miss. He conspicuously read from a pocket Bible in court; cleverly courted sympathy by timing the announcement of his breakup with Lopez for Valentine's Day, winning extra chivalry points by not calling her to testify; and tried on a Jewish good luck charm, a red bendel bracelet from Jerusalem's Wailing Wall.

Even his postacquittal comments to the press sounded like a Grammy acceptance speech: ''All the people, all my fans, my staff, all the people in New York, everybody that prayed for me all over the world -- thank you,'' he said before departing for an undisclosed vacation spot. ''I'm just so grateful today.… I feel blessed.''

He should. Although Combs still has to deal with $1.8 billion worth of civil suits from Fenderson and others -- cases in which the burden of proof isn't as strict -- the future of Bad Boy Entertainment looks bright. His clothing line has been a hit with fashionistas (Combs took time during his trial for his Feb. 10 runway show) as well as with the department stores (Bloomingdale's reports sales of Sean John growing by double digit percentages every six months). After sputtering for a while, his music label is back on track, moving from rap to R&B and pop and scoring top 10 hits with groups like 112 and Dream. (Another sign he's found religion: His next album, due June 5, is the gospel collection Thank You.) While his latest brush with violence and lawlessness may not help the Hamptons homeboy recapture his credibility with the hardcore demimonde of the rap world, it has made his name more familiar to the mainstream than ever before.

Best of all, nobody calls him Fluffy anymore.

Additional reporting by Rob Brunner, Clarissa Cruz, Audrey Fan, Evan Serpick, and Chris Willman

(This article is printed in its entirety from Entertainment Weekly's March 30, 2000, issue.)